


if you go out in the woods today

by thychesters



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Jossam Week 2017, in his defense she seemed nice. and if she shanks him then hey she shanks him, tfw u almost run over a cute girl in the woods and ur like 'hey i'm sorry u want a ride', vanishing hitchhiker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thychesters/pseuds/thychesters
Summary: [you're sure of a big surprise]he's driving down the backroads when he spots her, has to swerve and curse at the last second when a flash of red pops out of the woods. she looks a bit worse for wear and the funny part, too, is the fact thesheapologizes tohim.still, what kind of fool picks up a girl on the side of the road?a fool named josh washington, that's who.written forhalloween jossam week 2017





	if you go out in the woods today

**Author's Note:**

> written for [halloween jossam week 2017](http://chrstianslater.tumblr.com/post/166677805284). this week kicked my ass but i highkey loved it for it. i may move this to a posting with the other six prompts, but until then, here we are.
> 
> based on the [vanishing hitchhiker urban legend.](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FVanishing_hitchhiker&t=ZDQ3YTg0NjA0MzU1ZDIxOGE0YjFlZjc3NTJjMzcyNDRjN2YwMDMzZSxGblpGY0E4dQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AGWjAnjLx6l79I5XoJ27khw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fthychesters.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F166993099496%2Fjossam-halloween-week-day-seven-any&m=1)

Like the start of any good (or bad, depending on how you want to look at it) story, they meet because he almost runs her over.

He’s on his way back from Beth’s place, three hours north of LA, and he would’ve stayed longer had it not been for the fact that he’s supposed to meet his father at his office at ten. Of course, instead of leaving like he meant to the night before, he’d woken up on Beth’s couch somewhere around five a.m. with a drawn out  _fuuuuuck_  before shoving his face back into the cushions.

He’s got another two hours of road before him, opted for the back way Beth told him she takes because there’s less traffic and more of a scenic view, and here he is at the ass crack of dawn, staring down the mist seeping up off the road and reflected in his headlights. Admittedly, he’s going a little faster than he should be, but it’s not like there’s anyone else on the road, and Beth said there weren’t many patrols out here, anyway. But then she comes up out of nowhere, darting through the trees, and Josh’s heart is in his ass when he almost mows her down.

In his defense, he wasn’t really banking on anyone going out for a jog in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not like he was  _trying_  to run her over.

She side-steps, skidding through the mud while he slams on the brakes, the voice in the back of his head telling him the sound they just made is definitely not a good one, nor is the one the rest of his car makes when it hits the groove where the asphalt meets the mud. Josh decides he’s gonna sit and idle for a hot second, let the blood stop roaring in his ears and get his blood pressure to drop least he go careening into a ravine because some girl just popped out of the woods and scared the crap out of him.

Said girl comes running up along his car, and over the roar in his ears he can hear her shouting, though he can’t make out the words. There’s a tapping on his passenger side window, and he finds her staring at him, brow knit and knuckles rapped against the glass before she waves her hand. He rolls the window down, just enough that he can make out her voice, can make out where she’s been chewing at her lip. Her fingers curl over the top of the window, like she’s afraid he’s going to roll it back up on her.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and he balks, brain having to play catch up for a second, because he’s pretty sure he should be asking her that.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he goes with instead, because despite how coarse he sounds, it’s a legitimate question. The last rest stop was some forty minutes past him, and there’s nothing out here but trees, trees, and more trees. The breeze picks up the loose tendrils of hair that have fallen from the ponytail she’s pulled it back in, and at the sight of the goosebumps raised along the curve of her neck he’s reminded of just how cool it is out, still. All she has is a red zip-up, and she’s no where near dressed for this weather. Christ, how long as she been out for?

“My friends, ah—my friends kinda ditched me,” she says, and color creeps into the flush that has established dominance across her features. “We were camping, and apparently they either decided they were done or think they’re funny…”

Her grin is sheepish, and her teeth click before she pulls her lips in-between them, dropping her hand from the window. He nods, as if he actually knows how to solve any issues she has with the social circle she runs in. If anything, it sounds to him like she needs new, less shitty friends.

“You didn’t call anyone? How long have you been out here for?” he asks, part of him wondering why he’s even bothering to talk to her, because for all he knows she’s some crazy axe murderer chick whose hubby is waiting for her to lure him into the bush to chop his head off. But it’s not the worst thing he’s ever done. Another part of him tells himself to try not to be too big a dick to her, because as tired as he is, she’s like ten times as much, on top of being lost in the woods because her friends pulled an Irish goodbye.

Which would make him a bigger asshole: continuing to grill her, or driving away and leaving her stranded here?

“Don’t exactly have service,” she says, and hey, fair enough. The radio’s been cutting in and out ever since he hit this stretch, nothing but static at this point, and his auxiliary cord is tucked in the glove compartment.

Josh sits back in his seat, scrubbing a hand down his face and trying not to heave too loud a sigh. She asks him if he’s alright and he offers her a grunt, weighing his options. In retrospect, it might be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done, but Joshua Washington has made a number of poor decisions in his life (like setting up two of his friends despite his little sister’s blatant flirting with one of them), so what’s another to tack onto his list. It’ll just be bumped higher up if he doesn’t live to tell the tale.

“Do you want a ride?” he finally asks her, turning his head to find she’s taken a few steps back from his car with a wary look, as if  _his_  sudden appearance out here is the one they should be questioning. She hesitates, he can see it in her eyes, like he’s waiting for him to start laughing and take off, kicking up mud behind him as he goes. “Consider it, uh, recompense for almost running you over.”

“Recompense,” she repeats, and Josh shrugs.

“I mean it’s either that or wait for someone else to come driving by, and I haven’t seen a lot of other people back here at, uh—” his gaze cuts away from her to the radio on the dash. “Seven oh-three in the morning. “Or you can keep walking, if you want.”

She hesitates still, lips twitching as she tries to form words, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. He tells her he promises to keep his hands to himself, and if he says or does anything she doesn’t like, finds any reason for him to stop the car, he will. Swears on it.

“If you’re sure,” she finally settles on, and he makes it a point to lean over to reach across the passenger seat and unlock her door.

“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” he says, sitting back as she reaches for the handle. Her gaze keeps cutting back to him while she settles and adjusts her seatbelt as he rolls the window back up. There’s a pause, and then Josh reaches over the console, extending a hand least he let the silence get too awkward. “Josh, by the way.”

She looks at his hand and then back to him, and then she’s embracing it with her own frigid one and giving it a firm shake. “Sam. Thanks.”

He nods, and then he’s cranking the heat up from lukewarm, because: “Jesus, your hands are cold.”

“I  _have_  been outside,” Sam says, interlacing her fingers and rubbing her thumbs together. He spots a small grin when he glances over. “I had more stuff before my friends… well.”

“Your friends are assholes,” he supplies helpfully, shifting the car out of park and checking his mirrors, just in case any other stragglers come popping out of the woods.

“You’re telling me,” she mutters, rubbing her hands together before raising them toward the vents he’s aimed her way. “Thanks for offering the lift, though. Most people don’t.”

He pulls back not the road, keeping an eye on her out of his peripherals. “Most people?”

Sam shrugs, and he watches a shiver that turns into a yawn she follows with a  _sorry_. “I hike a lot. Even the most avid hikers get a little tired, and I used to try to hitchhike the last ten miles on occasion, especially if the weather wasn’t cooperating. Not a lot of people are too keen on letting strangers in their cars, though.”

He can feel her eyes on him, the static from the radio a dull roar in the background.

“Isn’t this the part where you say you’re not like most people?”

Josh quirks an eyebrow at her, bemused. “Do you usually critique the good samaritans giving you a hand? Or do you get in cars with strangers a lot?”

She waves a hand dismissively, with a put-upon sigh and sits back in her seat. Some of the color has returned to her features, and she flexes the fingers of her right hand. “Only the cute ones,” she says. “And I usually prefer truckers, mind you. Do you let strangers into your car a lot?”

“Only the cute ones,” he returns, snickering. At least they’ll be honest with one another. And if she turns out to that axe murderer and kills him, at least she’s a cute axe murderer. It’s the little things. “Nah, I would’ve felt bad if I’d just left you out here. Kind of a dick move.”

She nods, thanks him again, sounds a little more relaxed this time, and runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth back the loose strands. Josh raises a hand, pointing to his own forehead and gesturing to her with his chin. “You’re uh, bleeding a bit, by the way.”

“What, oh—aw, Jesus,” she murmurs, fingers gingerly prodding at the thin gash just below her hairline. “You’d think I wouldn’t be such a klutz.”

“There are napkins in the glove compartment,” he offers, because it’s not like he can really reach across her for it. That breaches too much personal space. Sam offers him another thanks, and sets to digging around before she’s pressing wadded up Chipotle napkins against her forehead.

The next few minutes pass by in near-silence, save for the static hum of the radio, the squelch of wet asphalt beneath the tires, and Sam’s breathing.

“How did you know I wasn’t gonna shiv you when you offered me a ride?” she asks by way of small talk, and it’s so out of left field, the complete opposite of anything he would have expected from her (not that he knows her) that he wants to laugh.

“Anyone who has to say that doesn’t have a shiv,” he tells her, and she gives him a solemn nod, bemused behind her wad of napkins.

“Touché, maybe I should have armed myself with some pinecones and taken you by surprise. You make it sound like you have a lot of experience with shivs.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Josh says, watching one indiscernible tree fade into the next one as the sky lightens somewhat. Then it hits him, steering them around a pothole. “Hey, before we get too far, where were you headed, anyway?”

“Riverside,” she tells him, dropping her hands back to her lap. There’s blood on the napkin she’s holding, and she folds it over to play with her sleeves. It’s a black and red zip up, and she pulls her sleeves down over her fingers, like her hands are still cold and he glances down at the dial. “You don’t—you don’t have to take me that far, though. You can just drop me at the next rest stop and that’d be totally fine, I swear.”

He makes a noncommittal gesture, some vague thing that involves waving his hand. “Headed that way anyway, no worries. Besides, I’m not gonna pull a fast one one ya like your friends, either.”

Sam nods, says thanks, again, sounding like a broken record at this point. “I appreciate it.”

They make idle chitchat, something to pass the time because it’s better than sitting in silence, and it masks the fact that at this point he’s shut off the radio entirely. He tells her he was up visiting his sister at school, says he prefers the backroads over the main highway because there’s less traffic and it’s better for meeting people, haha. She tells him how she enjoys hiking, camping, though maybe less so after this instance, hitchhiking is the best way to bum a free ride and meet new people. She’s in the middle of making a joke about how she might be a bad judge of character when Josh reaches into the backseat and comes back with the hoodie he discarded this morning, offering it to her.

“You still look pretty damn cold over there,” he explains, and gives him a soft smile before taking it. She’s still shivering despite the heat blasting her way, and he can only imagine her skin’s still cool to the touch.

“UCLA?” she says, looking down the shirtfront before wrestling her way into it.

“You’ve heard of it? Huh, I thought it was a fairly small school.” He says it with such an air of nonchalance, glancing into the mirror, and then over to Sam where her laugh is muffled by the sweatshirt she’s working her way into, already frizzy blonde hair morphed into a mane when her head pops out of the neck hole.

It’s not the best meet/cute, if that’s even what it is. If anything, it’s Josh’s good deed for the day, his pay-it-forward for the next year, and him not being a dick by leaving a cute girl in the cold. Because nothing says romance like nearly running a girl down and then offering her a ride with the same car he almost killed her with. Sam’s more than grateful, judging by the way he’d have to take both hands off the wheel to count how many times she’s said thank you. He finds he wants to know more about her, namely what she did to warrant getting ditched along a desolate stretch of highway by her so-called friends, whose feathers she ruffled or nerves she got on.

He’s in the middle of trying to think up a way of asking without sounding like a complete ass when she yawns again with a full-body shiver, covering her mouth with her hands. The fingers of her left hand are curled in on themselves again, bent almost like they’re broken and healed that way, or maybe she’s still just cold and Josh should stop staring so much, even if when it comes down to it she’s still just a stranger he doesn’t know sitting in his car.

“You can, uh nap or something if you want,” he supplies, side-eyeing the deer he can see lingering on the shoulder a few clicks away. He pulls a face at it, which Sam either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore. “I promise I’m gonna stick to the road, not turn and dump you somewhere.”

“I appreciate that,” she says, and out of the corner of his eye he watches her fold in on herself as the sky continues to lighten beyond the windshield. She sighs, and part of him wants to reach over and pat her knee, if he give her shoulder a light fist bump, but he doesn’t. “You’re a good guy, Josh,” she tells him, and she sounds almost sad about it.

He doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t know what to, and instead elects to let the tires eat up the damp asphalt beneath them as Sam dozes, bundled up in his sweatshirt. A girl he doesn’t even know, and part him wants to make a crack about she’s only known him for twenty minutes, she ought to buy him dinner before trying to get in his clothes.

Josh fiddles with the radio, watching the treeline that’s at once as impressive as it is boring, and ends up with some indie track lower on the dial, something that still fades in and out the closer they get to civilization.

He’s glancing her way again when the gas light goes off, the brief ding almost too loud in the near silence, and Sam’s feature twitch into something like a grimace as she lets out a small grunt.

“Gotta get gas,” he murmurs, almost like he’s about to apologize for bothering her. “There’s a rest stop up ahead; I gotta stretch and you can grab a drink or something, if you want.” He’s not positive who the reassurance is more for: her or himself.

Sam makes a noncommittal noise, one he almost doesn’t catch. She has her nose tucked into the collar, and she still looks flushed, despite the fact that Josh is starting to sweat from sitting in the hotbox they’ve created for so long. The gash at her hairline has stopped bleeding, at least, though it still doesn’t look all that pretty. Maybe once they pull off he’ll have her duck into the convenience store, find aspirin and some bandaids while he finds something to eat.

He could say he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart, but quite frankly he’s also not too keen on the idea of someone uh, dying in his car. That might be a touch overdramatic, but she was also running around in the woods underdressed when he found her, and there’s no telling how long she’s been out there or any conditions she was trying to hide.

Besides, what cute girl doesn’t mind having a hero? Ha.

She’s out cold when he finally pulls over, eases into a pump and turns the radio down like it’s too loud. He twists to check his side mirror, gauging the space between the pump and the car, and then reaches behind him tentatively, least he grab at something he shouldn’t.

“Hey, Sam, I’m gonna get gas; run inside and grab something, if you want. I’ll meet you in a minute,” he says, fingers brushing along his sweatshirt. “Sam—” he starts again, ending up with a fistful of the material. It comes loose, pulling away in his grip, and Josh frowns when he ends up with it in his lap. “What—” he says, more to himself than the vacant passenger seat next to him, and his frown deepens because he never heard her undo her seatbelt, let along open or close the door behind her.

He glances down at the bloody napkin left in the footwell, and then he’s climbing out of the car himself.

“Sam?” he calls out into the empty lot, deciding he’ll give her a couple minutes, and then after that point she’s on her own. She probably ducked inside to go call someone she actually knew, anyway. “Sam?”

Josh shuts the door behind him before rounding the front of the car, and it’s by pure chance that he glances down at his bumper. There’s a smear just below the headlight on the passenger side of his car, and he’d pass it off as mud from running off the shoulder earlier if it weren’t for the nagging in the back of his head. It’s probably just Sam running off on him that has him unsettled, and he crouch down to get a better look at his bumper. His fingers come away sticky after he runs them along the groove, and he frowns at the wet shine of his bloody fingertips, and then at what is, upon closer inspection, a torn piece of red fleece lodged in the grill, unless he’s just fucking with himself now.

“What the fuck…” he mutters, easing back to his feet and then surveying the parking lot again. There are maybe two other cars pulled up the gas pumps, and another couple parked in the rest area, but still no sign of Sam. When he glances back into his car through the windshield, he finds his sweatshirt crumpled up on the passenger seat, and the door still locked.

He pivots, making his way toward the door, intent on finding Sam, because he, he could have sworn—

—there was someone in his car, he was talking to her—

—he lent her his sweatshirt, he felt her hand when she shook his, cold as it was—

—her name was Sam,  _is_  Sam, he could have sworn—

—she came out of nowhere, and he was going too fast—

—he tried to stop in time, he swerved, there’s no way he possibly could have—

—there’s blood on his bumper, but he couldn’t—

—he wouldn’t—

—oh Jesus, Sam.

—she was right there, he could have sworn.

_“Sam!”_

* * *

 

She was two miles out from her campsite when she fell.


End file.
